birggitt (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2009-05-25 10:03 pm
birggitt.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-05-25 10:03 pm
Entry tags:
Sanctuary by Killa - NC-17
First, I want to apologize for the lack of recs, I was sick, and my mind was really clouded and barely functional. Yes, even below the usual. So, let's go to the important stuff now: the story!
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Length: Barley over 8.300 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
killabeez
Author Website: Killa's Adventures in Melodrama
Why this must be read: Here we have a post Endgame story. And a good one, as any story by Killa would be. It's sad, but its sadness has a soft quality, it's a sadness you know will fade in a bittersweetness memory.
The whole story is bittersweet: hard and warm and sad and beautiful and hot. It's a story about love in all its ways, and how love could be painful, and how it could shake us and bring us to our knees in tears. But also, about how it could make us get up, again. And keep going.
You should take a look here:
The bed was obscenely comfortable. Duncan lay in it for long minutes, watching the moving shadows of tree branches outside the window, stirred by the night wind and cast faintly by moonlight on the far wall. The movement stirred the restlessness in his mind, the tangle of images and thought and feeling. For some reason it was the memory of Connor and Tessa in the kitchen in Seacouver that had returned most often and most vividly all day. It came again now, so close he could almost smell the sage and rosemary and Tessa's perfume, their voices faint, just out of hearing's reach. That day had been lost to time many years ago now, but it felt so real it seemed he might reach out and touch it.
Other memories tangled with that one. Ghost-images of a blonde woman he had never met, but whose name he knew, having seen it on a gravestone earlier that day; the memory of holding a little girl in his arms, a daughter not his own. Not enough to hold on to, nothing of Connor he could hold in his fist, just echoes, insubstantial and disconcerting.
It wasn't your fault, Methos had told him. For some reason, hearing him say it had eased something in Duncan in a way nothing else could have. His instincts had been right to bring him here tonight. Why he should have sought Methos for comfort, against all reason, he didn't know, but there was no denying that was why he had come.
Knowing already that sleep was a lost cause, he rose and went to the glass-paned doors, toying idly with thoughts of going out into the garden and losing himself for a while in the winding paths and hedges.
Sanctuary
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Length: Barley over 8.300 words
Author on LJ:
killabeezAuthor Website: Killa's Adventures in Melodrama
Why this must be read: Here we have a post Endgame story. And a good one, as any story by Killa would be. It's sad, but its sadness has a soft quality, it's a sadness you know will fade in a bittersweetness memory.
The whole story is bittersweet: hard and warm and sad and beautiful and hot. It's a story about love in all its ways, and how love could be painful, and how it could shake us and bring us to our knees in tears. But also, about how it could make us get up, again. And keep going.
You should take a look here:
The bed was obscenely comfortable. Duncan lay in it for long minutes, watching the moving shadows of tree branches outside the window, stirred by the night wind and cast faintly by moonlight on the far wall. The movement stirred the restlessness in his mind, the tangle of images and thought and feeling. For some reason it was the memory of Connor and Tessa in the kitchen in Seacouver that had returned most often and most vividly all day. It came again now, so close he could almost smell the sage and rosemary and Tessa's perfume, their voices faint, just out of hearing's reach. That day had been lost to time many years ago now, but it felt so real it seemed he might reach out and touch it.
Other memories tangled with that one. Ghost-images of a blonde woman he had never met, but whose name he knew, having seen it on a gravestone earlier that day; the memory of holding a little girl in his arms, a daughter not his own. Not enough to hold on to, nothing of Connor he could hold in his fist, just echoes, insubstantial and disconcerting.
It wasn't your fault, Methos had told him. For some reason, hearing him say it had eased something in Duncan in a way nothing else could have. His instincts had been right to bring him here tonight. Why he should have sought Methos for comfort, against all reason, he didn't know, but there was no denying that was why he had come.
Knowing already that sleep was a lost cause, he rose and went to the glass-paned doors, toying idly with thoughts of going out into the garden and losing himself for a while in the winding paths and hedges.
Sanctuary
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